Storm over Thedas: Collected Ficlets
by MsBarrows
Summary: A collection of ficlets set in the "Eye of the Storm" AU - most of these were originally included in my "In the Maker's Light" ficlet collection, but I'm now moving them into their own document for better organization both here and on AO3.
1. Eye of the Storm Ficlets 1

**Written for a reblog meme on Tumblr, where rebloggers wanted short fics posted in their 'Ask' in-box. In no particular order, these are most of the ficlets I wrote in response to it, apart from a handful that the recipients never posted. All of these particular ones fall with "Eye of the Storm" precursor headcanon territory.**

* * *

Anders felt a rare smile lifting his lips as he watched Merrill, spinning in circles under the Vhenadahl with her arms outspread and face turned up to the sky. She was so childishly delighted by the rare snowfall that he could almost forget, for a moment, that she was a maleficar. He looked to one side, to share his joy in her delight with his companions. Hawke was watching her as well, smiling too. Fenris was standing on one leg, like a lanky stork, frowning down at the sole of one lifted foot.

* * *

Hawke looked up as Isabela stepped over to his side and dropped gracefully down to sit cross-legged beside him.

"This is good," she said, spooning up a mouthful of the rabbit stew from her plate.

"Yes, it is, very good," Merrill agreed, from where she sat on the other side of him. "I'm surprised you're such a good cook, Sebastian," she added.

Sebastian looked up from where he was sitting on the far side of the fire, and smiled wryly. "I learned a few things in my youth. Some worth remembering."

* * *

Hearing raised voices, Sebastian came to a stop. They were arguing again, as they always did. More angrily than usual, by the sound of it. He bit his lip, considering intervening, but knew they would not thank him. He eased forward, in time to see the argument end, the two part. He watched them both admiringly, the white-haired elf stalking away, the apostate slumping before turning and wandering off, back down to Darktown. He followed the warrior; at least that one he could safely call friend.

* * *

Sebastian looked along the table, forcing a smile. It was nice of Hawke to occasionally invite him for these gatherings in Varric's rooms at the Hanged Man, but he never felt quite comfortable at them. Perhaps because he could never escape the feeling that, apart from Fenris, most of Hawke's companions merely tolerated his presence here because Hawke had invited him. He'd rather have stayed in his room at the chantry. Or perhaps gone to visit Fenris, for good wine and intelligent conversation.

* * *

Fenris watched the mage walking away, frowning angrily. As he watched the slumped shoulders and lowered head of the man disappearing into the darkness, he felt a brief irrational desire to follow the apostate and apologize for his harsh words. Instead he spat a curse and turned away.

He found Sebastian still standing nearby, watching him guardedly. "Sorry," Fenris said. "He brings out the worst in me."

Sebastian nodded understandingly. "And you in him," he agreed. "Come. Past time we went home."

* * *

Fenris leaned against the wall, arms crossed, an angry frown on his face. He ignored the worried or furtive looks the people leaving the clinic were giving him.

Finally the apostate came out, alone, to put out the paired lanterns. He froze as he caught sight of Fenris standing in the shadows nearby. "What do _you_ want," he asked warily. Fenris straightened up, and limped a few steps closer. Anders frowned down at the bloody footsteps he was leaving behind. "Come in, then," he said, and sighed.

* * *

Fenris threaded his way through the crowded bar, wanting only to reach the door and get outside, to head back to the solitude of his own home. He shouldn't have come to the Hanged Man, not when his memories of their recent battle with Danarius still had him feeling so unnerved.

"Fenris! Wait!" he heard Sebastian call from behind him.

He would have ignored him, but he crashed into someone at the door; another elf, tanned and blond. He snarled a curse, an apology, and turned to glare at the prince.

* * *

Seeing the orange-red glare reflecting off the clouds overhead, he felt as if a great weight had lifted off of him. It was done. Finished. Or just begun; the light a rallying cry that no mage could fail to ignore, nor any man who believed, as he did, that the chantry was a tool of oppression. He turned to Hawke, a wide smile on his lips. And felt his smile falter in the face of the look of horrified disbelief on his lover's face.

"What have you done, Anders?" Hawke asked, voice a hoarse whisper.


	2. Eye of the Storm Ficlets 2

**The "reblog for a fic in Ask box" meme did another pass on Tumblr last night. So, yes, I wrote a bunch more of them. Here are all the "Eyes of the Storm" headcanon precursor ones:**

* * *

Anders slumped back in his chair and frowned as he watched Hawke, sitting on the corner of the table by Varric's chair, arms crossed and laughing at something the dwarf had said. He wished that the warrior would finish his business with Varric so they could head home; it had been a long, hard day slogging through the sands of the Wounded Coast, putting up with acid commentary from Fenris and Sebastian the entire day. He just wanted to get back to Hawke's place, bathe, and be fucked into the bed.

* * *

Fenris worriedly checked the table a third time. Bottle of red wine, a loaf of bread and some soft cheese to spread it with, a single goblet, and a flask of potable water. He preferred to drink his wine straight, from the bottle, but Sebastian always had his well-watered, and nursed the single goblet of it all evening.

He enjoyed these evening of comradeship and long, rambling conversations; a pity he didn't get along as well with any other of Hawke's companions. But one good friend was enough.

* * *

Anders frowned as he looked toward where the young man - barely more than a boy, really - was kneeling in the sand beside the body of the qunari. At least the Viscount's son hadn't been hurt himself; not physically, anyway.

He could only imagine what must be going through Seamus' head at the moment, after seeing his friend bloodily killed at close quarters, followed by Hawke's battle with the mercenaries.

A handsome lad; and perhaps a little overly protected by his father. Poor little rich boy.

* * *

Fenris sighed with relief as the door to the mansion closed behind him. Another day spent in company with Hawke, the apostate, and the maleficarum finally over with. He sometimes wondered if Hawke chose who to invite along on these things based on their entertainment value; he'd caught a grin on Hawke's face more than once as he and the mages sniped verbally at each other. He went down to the cellars in search of wine; Sebastian would be by later to help drink it. He smiled, annoyance forgotten.

* * *

Isabel felt like pouting. It was rare for her to have trouble drawing the attention of the men or women she was attracted to; especially when it was someone she'd had a mutually satisfactory encounter with before. She had been very interested in reprising her evening with Anders and his little magic trick. Unfortunately, he seemed to already have a relationship with someone else. And her second choice, Hawke... well, it would be in bad taste for her to pursue Anders' boyfriend in place of him.

* * *

Sebastian almost didn't notice the visitor, lost in his own thoughts as he was, but the man stopped in a pool of light a few feet from where he stood. A tall man, lean, with red-gold hair caught back in a ponytail, wearing shabby robes with absurd feathered pauldrons, a staff slung across his back. He frowned and was about to move forward to speak to the man when the doors opened and admitted a second man; one known to him. Hawke.

"Anders!" the warrior called. The mage turned, and smiled warmly.


	3. Ask Box Ficlets

**Guillaume/Antony**

_Note – these are OC templars from towards the end of "Eye of the Storm". This is a glimpse of them at some point pre-Eyes._

Guillaume settled on a chair in the corner of the dining hall, feeling grouchy. He missed Ellis; the two of them had been a pair for years, since Guillaume had been a scrawny new-made templar, still wet behind the ears. But Ellis was gone now; retired, not due to lyrium addiction as would not have been due for some years yet, but due to injury. A wound gone septic, from a minor injury he hadn't taken proper care of; a damned foolish way for a good man to loose a limb, and almost his life.

He was to be paired with someone new, now. He was not looking forward to it, even if Rémi had promised it would be someone he could trust. His brother had his own agenda, and someone Rémi trusted wouldn't necessarily be someone he felt like trusting as well. Though he supposed he could at least trust that Rémi would have made sure whomever it was would not betray them.

He sighed, and pushed his food around on his plate, before taking another mouthful of it. He had little appetite; too much worry. What if Rémi had misjudged, and this new partner of his was untrustworthy? The thought of the fate that awaited them all - and especially him - if the Seekers ever learned of them...

His appetite gone entirely, he pushed his plate away and rose to his feet. He turned to leave, and almost walked right into another templar; a very young one, with the still-gawky physique of someone barely out of their last growth spurt. Maker, they were swearing them in younger every year, it sometimes seemed...

"Whoops, sorry!" the younger man exclaimed, and smiled cheerfully at him. "Are you Guillaume?"

"Yes," he answered, warily, wishing the young sprout would move aside so he could leave.

The other's grin widened. "Good! I thought so - I am Antony," he said. "Your new partner."

"_You _are..." he exclaimed, then gave the youngster a second look. "Impossible," he said flatly. This... this _puppy _was not suitable material for a partner for him! What on Thedas had Rémi been _thinking_...

Antony seemed not in the least put out by his disbelief, and merely gestured to Guillaume's abandoned seat. "Please, join me?" he asked politely. "We should at least talk a little, before you decide I am unsuitable."

Guillaume snorted, but grudgingly returned to his seat. He supposed he would have to at least talk with the man, give him some small chance to prove himself. In the end, it turned out to be merely the first of a great many times that Antony talked him into something, often against his better judgement. The man had a very persuasive tongue.

* * *

**Those two templars seemed like rather pleasant fellows. I friendSHIP them, huurrr! So OC Templars, getting to know each other a little bit. Do they have something in common, besides the.. being templars thing? How was Antony found to be suitable - a special mage friend, or..?**

Guillaume leaned his two-handed sword against the side of the well, and dropped the bucket down, hauling on the rope hand-over-hand to retrieve it. He poured the water out over his head, sighing in relief as it ran down his head and torso, then dropped the bucket again. He drank deeply from the bucket, poured what was left over his head, then handed the now-empty bucket to Antony as he moved aside.

"That was a good practise," he said approvingly, slicking his dripping hair back from his face. "You are quite good with that shield."

Antony nodded as he hauled on the rope. "I had a good teacher," he said, and smiled. "Besides, if I was not good with the shield, someone might scar my pretty face, and that would be a terrible waste, yes?"

Guillaume snorted, but didn't comment. Antony was quite attractive, that was true, with his black hair and dark blue eyes, but it was not the sort of thing you could say to another man. Certainly not to one you'd only known for such a short time. "You should grow a beard," he said.

"What, and be all hairy like you?" Antony asked with a grin, before dumping a bucket of water over his own head.

"It would make you look older," Guillaume pointed out reasonably, trying not to stare at the water trickling down the other man's muscular torso. He looked away, down at the mat of brownish-blond hair on his own chest, running his hands over his chest and arms to slick off most of the remaining water.

"Ah, but people underestimate me all the time because I look so young," Antony pointed out, then laughed, and spoke quietly as he dropped the bucket down the well a second time. "Besides, that pretty new kitchen maid likes me without a beard, I think. Did you not see how she was watching me at breakfast this morning?"

Guillaume grinned. "I am afraid it is not you she was staring at," he said calmly.

"Oh? Why not?" Antony asked, as he turned away and resumed hauling on the rope.

Guillaume glanced over, admiring the way Antony's muscles moved as he pulled up the heavy bucket. "I am sure it was not you she was looking at," he explained calmly, as he retrieved his sword, "Because it was _me _that she had just spent the night in bed with. And you're right, she is indeed very pretty," he added, then turned away, hiding a grin as he walked off.

* * *

**Zevran/Fenris - Post!Eye of the Storm**

"I hate boats," Zevran said, frowning at the ships lined up along the quay.

"Ships," Fenris corrected him, looking around distractedly. "They are called ships. I am not overly fond of them myself."

"Why? Do you get seasick?" Zevran asked curiously.

"No. But I prefer travelling by land. At least there I can run away if I have to."

"Ah. A good reason. It is, in fact, the very reason why I hate boats."

"Don't call them boats, it makes Isabela mad. Ah, and there she is"

"A good point. Fine. For this trip alone, I will endeavour to call them _ships_," Zevran agreed.

"For someone who grew up in a seaside town, you seem remarkably ignorant about ships and the sea," Fenris said, giving him a curious look.

Zevran grinned. "It is part of my charm."


	4. Sebastian and Fenris

**Got a prompt on Tumblr asking if Sebastian and Fenris from Eye of the Storm could hook up. And immediately thought of a time when it could have occurred. Had to wrestle with the story a bit to get it to come out without either too much exposition, or too much angst (or both), and this is the end result.**

* * *

Sebastian started at the sound of a loud knock on the door to his room. His deerhound, Gyfeillgar, a descendant of Anders' old dog Ganwyn, scrambled to her feet and barked excitedly. Someone the dog recognized, then, he realized, even before a familiar voice called out.

"Sebastian – open up. I know you're in there."

Fenris' voice. He rolled off the bed and stumbled over to the door. There was another thunderous knocking just as he reached it.

"Sebastian! Open up or I'll open this door myself," the elf called out.

That drew a faint smile to Sebastian's face; he had little doubt the elf would make good on the threat if necessary. "I'm opening it, just a moment..." he called back, and fumbled with the bar that held the door shut.

The door swung open. Fenris took a half-step forward, stopping in the open doorway with Gyfeillgar fawning at his feet. He stroked her head as he ran a sharply evaluative eye over Sebastian; a look that made him glad he'd actually rose from his bed long enough to bathe and change that morning, though his clothes were rumpled from lying on the bed most of the day.

Fenris looked much as he always did – his hair having been white as long as Sebastian had known him, there was no real change to it, other than the length at which he now wore it, a long sleek ponytail. There were, all told, little signs in him of ageing – slightly deeper lines across his forehead and bracketing his mouth, crow's feet at the corners of his eyes, a slight loosening of the skin of his neck. Still as handsome as he had ever been, handsomer if anything, as he now had the self-assured posture and manner that he'd been lacking in his youth.

"You look better than I'd feared," said Fenris, the head-to-toe examination over. "Ewan asked me to look in on you; he and Niawen have been worried about you, you know."

Sebastian grimaced and stepped back, gesturing for Fenris to enter. "I suppose they've been having regular reports from the servants since Anders' died," he said, then sighed and scrubbed at his hair for a moment. "I won't say they're without reason to worry, not when..." he trailed off, looking around the room.

"Not when you've barely left this room in the three months since lighting his pyre?" Fenris asked, voice gentle.

Sebastian winced, and nodded. "Yes. It's just..." he broke off again, shaking his head, and turned his back to the elf, unable to continue. "Seventeen years together, and now he's gone," he choked out, fighting back tears.

He heard the door close, then Fenris took ahold of his shoulders, turning him back around and pulling him into a hug. "It's okay to grieve," Fenris said quietly. "Go ahead and cry."

So he did, leaning on the elf and letting the tears flow. Not that it was the first time he'd cried since bringing home Anders' empty, tainted shell and seeing it consigned to the waiting pyre. Far from it. But it was the first time he'd openly shared his grief with another, dampening the shoulder of a friend instead of the pillow on his bed, or the fur of one of their – his – pets.

At some point Fenris guided him over to sit down on the edge of the bed, hand rubbing soothingly up and down Sebastian's back, holding him until the storm of tears had ended, and even afterwards, while he just leaned on the elf's shoulder and felt... comforted. Not alone any more.

After a while he sighed, and straightened up. "Thank you," he said, voice still thick from crying.

"You're welcome," Fenris said, and smiled, one of those honest, open smiles he'd learned to make some time in his first few years with Zevran. "And now you are to go wash your face, while I fetch us a tray from the kitchen, and then we will talk."

"All right," Sebastian agreed, and went off to his bathing chamber while the elf disappeared off to the kitchens, the deerhound following along at his heels with tail waving. The elf returned to his bedroom not long after he did, carrying a large tray in both hands and without the dog. There were two bowls of fragrant stewed chicken with vegetables, a plate of slices of bread baked just that day, thickly spread with fresh butter from the village, and a dessert of stewed berries spooned over sweet cornbread and topped with clotted cream. Sebastian did not feel much appetite at first, but he couldn't refuse to sit down and eat with Fenris. He picked at his food at first, but a glare from Fenris made him take a few real mouthfuls of food, and once he'd done that, it was easier to continue eating normally than not.

Fenris chatted while they ate, not expecting or even waiting for any response from Sebastian but just talking, on a number of subjects – how well his vineyards were doing this year, the latest news from Kirkwall, gossip about the other nobles of Starkhaven. Niawen, he informed Sebastian, was likely pregnant again, though she was waiting until the first few dangerous months had passed before making any formal announcement. And his favourite mare had thrown twin stallions, both with the grey-speckled coat and creamy mane and tail of their infamous grandsire Ari.

"How is Ari?" Sebastian asked, smiling slightly as he remembered the day he'd gifted the horse to Fenris. There had been a near-instant bond between the two, and the stallion had gone on to be the premiere stallion of Fenris' horse-breeding efforts.

Fenris smiled. "Very well. I rode him here; perhaps tomorrow you'll join me for a ride and can see for yourself."

"I'd like that," Sebastian said, then looked curiously at the elf. "How long are you planning to say? Not that I am in any rush to get rid of you, you understand..."

Fenris nodded. "Of course. And the answer is, as long as it takes for me to be sure you're sufficiently recovered from Anders' death and won't do yourself a mischief, either intentionally or by neglecting yourself."

Sebastian flushed, both touched that the elf would want to do so, and embarrassed that he clearly felt it necessary. And... he couldn't deny that it wasn't. No, not intentionally, not when, unlike Anders, he was still hale and hearty, his health as good as it had ever been, bar a lengthy period of little sleep and not eating properly. But he had lost considerable condition over the last three months, yes, and really should be taking better care of himself. It was just... so hard to care about anything, with Anders gone.

Fenris pushed away his now-empty bowl and rose to his feet. "Go have a bath, Sebastian – I'll take care of this and then go check on my horses, and then come back again," he said, and started moving dishes back onto the tray. Sebastian was startled to see that he'd eaten pretty much everything that had been set before him.

"I bathed this morning," he protested.

"Bathe again. A good hot soak bath. I'll be back in an hour," Fenris told him sternly, picked up the tray, and left.

Sebastian did as told, filling the capacious tub with steaming hot water and on impulse adding some of the bath oil he had not used since Anders' death, the bergamot scented one that Anders had so loved him using. He was tense when he first got into the tub, but the heat and the lemony scent soon relaxed him, the scent in particular making him remember some particularly memorable moments over the years with Anders. He cried again, but quietly, lying back in the tub with tears leaking out from under closed lids rather than the outright sobbing of earlier. The water was cooling by the time he sat up, rinsed his face clean, then rose from the bath. He wrapped a towel around his waist, then returned to the bedroom.

To his surprise Fenris was already there, sitting in a chair and reading. The elf looked up at him as he entered. "I was beginning to think I should look in and be sure you were all right," Fenris said, closing and putting aside his book, then rose to his feet, looking Sebastian over again. "You look better," he said approvingly.

"I feel at least a little better," Sebastian agreed. "Err... has a room been arranged for you for the night?" he asked, feeling rather self-conscious to be dressed in just a towel before Fenris. True, the elf had seen him dressed in substantially less a time or two at festivals and suchlike, but that was... well, there was a huge difference between wearing nothing but a loincloth for the harvest fest, and being near-naked in the privacy of his bedroom. He felt him blushing as Fenris continued to look steadily at him.

"I will be sleeping here," the elf said, to his surprise.

"Here...? But..."

"You have been too much alone since Anders died. I will be spending the nights here," Fenris said firmly, and gestured to where his saddlebags were set on the floor in a corner of the room. "I will change too; it is almost time for bed anyway," he said, then turned his back and walked over, his hands already working at the laces at the neck of his shirt.

Sebastian hastily turned away, walking over to his own wardrobe. He quickly pulled on a clean nightshirt, only removing the towel once he was covered. He kept his back turned, giving the elf time to change.

"I am changed," Fenris said, voice amused, and Sebastian turned back around.

It was... decidedly _odd_, to see the elf dressed for bed. They'd shared a camp at night more than once, both years ago back in Kirkwall when adventuring with Hawke, and occasionally in the years since, notably during the wars. But Fenris had usually shared a tent with Zevran, and even when they did sleep together for one reason or another, it had been in partial armour, or at least well clothed, ready in case of unexpected attack, not in nightshirts.

Fenris was not in the least perturbed by their state of dress, and walked over to the bed, turning down the sheets. "Which side do you prefer?" he asked.

"Err... furthest from the window," Sebastian said hesitantly and walked around the bed, Fenris passing him as they changed sides. Fenris climbed into bed and lay down without any hesitation. Sebastian joined him, feeling, if anything, even more self-conscious. He lay almost rigidly awake, not finally relaxing and falling asleep himself until long after Fenris' breathing had evened out in sleep.

He woke late the next morning, having slept soundly for the first time in months, to find Fenris sitting up in bed beside him, already dressed and reading again from his book. Fenris insisted on him getting up and dressed, eating, and then going on a long rambling walk around the nearby countryside with the elf. He was out of breath by the time they returned to the farmhouse; months of doing little but lying in bed grieving had put him in poor condition. He meekly obeyed all Fenris' suggestions – mildly phrased orders – about sleep and diet and exercise over the next few days.

"You're looking much better now," Fenris said one evening as they prepared for bed.

"I'm feeling much better," Sebastian admitted, before turning away to change into his nightshirt. He'd taken off his shirt and was reaching for his nightshirt when a hand touched the skin of his back, making him yelp and flinch, then spin around, eyes wide. They widened even further when he saw Fenris standing right there, dressed in nothing but his smalls. "F-f-fenris?" he stuttered, shocked.

A wry smile twisted Fenris' lips, and he glanced away and down for a moment, cheeks flushing slightly. "You're looking very well," the elf said again, quietly, then turned back to meet Sebastian's eyes. There was heat, there – heat, and a question, or an invitation.

"Oh..." said Sebastian, softly, standing frozen.

He had always been attracted to the elf, from the first time he'd ever seen him, pacing along at Hawke's side, graceful as a hunting beast and wary of everything. It had been the elf's physical presence and beauty that first attracted his attention, and then, later, as he grew to knew Fenris better and they became friends, it had been far more than just that which drew him; the elf's intelligence, his questioning mind... But he'd had his vows, back in Kirkwall, and Fenris had his own reasons to have no wish for a physical relationship with anyone. And he'd been content in their close friendship. After Kirkwall... well, they'd gone their separate ways at first, and by the time Fenris had appeared in Starkhaven, there was Anders, whom Sebastian was already falling in love with, though it had been some time before he'd realized, or at least admitted to himself, that he was. And for Fenris, in time, there had been Zevran, who had taught him not to fear.

"Zevran..." he began to say, mind filling rapidly with the thought of what a bad, bad idea it might be to become involved with the lover of an assassin.

Fenris _smiled_. "Who do you think told me that I should come spend some time with you? He and I have a very open relationship, though he is the one who most often takes advantage of that. How did you think we fathered our heirs?"

That distracted Sebastian for a moment, as he frowned in confusion. "I assumed they were adopted..."

Fenris shook his head. "No. Philena and Jehn are twins of one birth, but Philena is Zevran's daughter and Jehn is my son," he said, then held up one hand when Sebastian started to ask a second question. "Philena is _my_ heir and Jehn is Zevran's because we wished it done so. And Daren we're not sure which of us fathered, as he takes very much after their mother. If something were to happen to Philena or Jehn, he would inherit. But enough talk of heirs; it is not talk I wish right now," Fenris said, and stepped closer.

He could have refused, could have stepped aside, avoided the elf's approach – but twenty-three years of friendship and, yes, attraction, bade otherwise. He stood still, as Fenris moved closer yet, reaching up to twine fingers in Sebastian's greying hair and pull him down the slight distance needed for a kiss.

Sebastian shivered, then settled again, his own arms rising to wrap around the near-naked elf, as heat flared between them. It should have felt wrong, he thought, after almost seventeen years of Anders. It did for a fleeting moment, but then Fenris pressed up against him, the elf's mouth dropping open enough to invite exploration, and it began to feel very right indeed.

Fenris' hands were soon at the laces of his leggings, helping him remove his remaining clothes, and then the two of them were on the bed together, naked. He was nervous at first, but Fenris was not, and after a while he forgot anything but the slide of flesh against flesh, the desire to touch and be touched, to kiss and be kissed. They were a moving, surging tangle of limbs and lips and fingers, with murmurs of reassurance, moans and cries of pleasure, a warm chuckle of amusement. And in the end, a long crest of pleasure, followed by tears again, and further comforting.

He felt better than he had since even before Anders' death, as he finally curled up for sleep, his and Fenris' legs still tangled together, their arms around each other. His love was dead, and that had not changed. But he was reminded now that there could still be lovers, and pleasure, even passion. There was still warmth in the world, even if it was a banked flame compare to the bonfire of emotions he'd felt with Anders, and still people who loved him, and whom he loved. It was enough.


End file.
